


Broken

by GloriaMundi



Category: Anthropomorfic - Fandom
Genre: Anthropomorphism - Freefom, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-09
Updated: 2003-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Author / Idea relationship goes bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

The Idea was new and shiny and full of joy, and it came out of nowhere -- or so it seemed -- to the Author

The Idea was happy to be recognised and valued, happy with the attention: it shone and sparkled more brightly. Each scribbled line of dialogue was a caress. Each insight into motivation sent shivers through the Idea's core: it opened up to the Author, revealing more of its grace and complexity

But then something changed. Perhaps the Author was too attentive, and what had been a healthy respect turned to obsession. Perhaps the Idea had basked too long in the glow of the Author's regard, and had become stale and dulled. Perhaps the Author had too many other Ideas waiting, all demanding of time and attention. But things changed between them. The Author no longer cosseted the Idea, but tried to wrestle it into submission. And the Idea, wounded and broken, lashed out

The arguments began. "I wish I could simply satisfy you," complained the Author, "but you're insatiable."

"You spent too long trying to write me, and not enough time thinking me through," the Idea retorted

"Well, you shouldn't have come to me," the Author said bitterly. "I'm not good enough to do you justice. Perhaps I should offer you to --"

"What do you think I am?" demanded the Idea. "A whore?"

The Author coughed and sidled like a bad-tempered horse. "Funny you should say that," she sneered. "I'd have thought you'd appreciate being with someone else."

In the bleak watches of the night the Author vowed that if she couldn't satisfy this Idea, she would never entertain another. Oh, perhaps there'd be the occasional frivolous Notion, fit only for a one-night stand. (One shouldn't, after all, suppress one's natural urges. Look at the Victorians.) Maybe she'd dally with other people's Ideas, or return to some old neglected Ideas that no one cared about any more

The Idea, abandoned and lonely and so close, so close! to that consummation they both devoutly wished, hoped that they would be together again some day. The Author had treated it so badly, and yet perhaps there was still hope

Meanwhile, the Author's friends told her to take it all less seriously, to lighten up and turn to others. But she'd forsaken all others, and now she couldn't even look at the Idea any more, caught between shame and loss. If she touched it again she'd hurt it even more; or perhaps it was simply the selfish fear of failure

Fulfilling the urge to write was easy. She tried not to think of the feeling of oneness she had with the Idea. Instead, she carried on with old flames, though they meant nothing to her any more. The words came out but there was no pleasure in it, any more

And the Idea sat (or laid, or coiled, or coalesced) and simply waited, each day a little duller


End file.
